Bought For The Greek's Bed - Julia James

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crisis and satisfy public and social decencies. I believe that when your uncle has his company safe again he will accept the dissolution of our brief marriage and will come to other arrangements for the long-term future of the Fournatos group. If you have the regard for your uncle which you say you have, then you will agree to this proposal.’

      Emotions roiled heavily in Vicky’s breast. One was resentment at being spoken to as if she were a mix between a simpleton and an ingrate. The other was more complex—and at the same time a lot more simple.

      She didn’t want to marry Theo Theakis. Not for any reason, period. The very idea was absurd and ludicrous and insane. It was also—

      She veered her thoughts away. Pulled her eyes away from him. She didn’t like sitting here, this close to him, alone in his huge office. Theo Theakis disturbed her, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

      She forced herself to look at him again. He was still levelling that impassive, unreadable gaze on her, but she could see, deep at the back of his eyes, the glint in it. There was antagonism there, and something else, too, and she liked that least of all.

      She jumped to her feet again. This time Theo Theakis did not order her to sit down. She clutched her handbag to her chest and spoke.

      ‘I don’t believe there isn’t a different way to deal with this,’ she said. ‘There just has to be!’

      And then she walked out.

      The problem was, it was one thing to march out of Theo Theakis’s executive office in umbrage, but quite another to face her uncle again. It was evident, she realised with a sinking heart, that as far as he was concerned of course she would be marrying the man she now knew would be saving his company. That Aristides had kept this information from her only fuelled her sorrow. The awful thing was that, had it not been for her visit to Theo and his brutal explanation of the cruel facts, she would have had no hesitation in telling Aristides, as gently as she could, that she could not possibly entertain the idea of marrying a man who was virtually a stranger. Let alone one who caused such a frisson of hyper-awareness in her every time she set eyes on him.

      But because she now knew just how vital it was for her uncle to be able to wrap up Theo Theakis’s financial help in a dynastic marriage, she simply could not do it.

      Yet how could she possibly agree to such a marriage? It was out of the question! Even if it was limited to the superficial temporary marriage of convenience that Theo Theakis was advocating.

      I can’t possibly marry him! It’s absurd, ludicrous, ridiculous…

      But even though those were the words she deliberately used to describe such a marriage, she could feel her resistance being eroded. The more closely she studied her uncle’s face, the more she could see the web of anxiety in it, the fear haunting the back of his eyes. For him, it seemed, everything depended on her accepting this marriage proposal. And as far as her uncle was concerned, Vicky could see, no young woman in her right mind would dream of turning it down! It offered everything—a husband who was not just extremely wealthy but magnetically attractive, who was lusted after by all other females, and held in respect and esteem by all men. What on earth was there to turn down? To her uncle, he was an ideal husband…

      It was a clash of worlds, she knew. Her modern world, where you married for love and romance, and his, where you married for family, financial security and social suitability. A clash that could not be resolved—or explained. Every instinct told her that she could not—should not—do what her uncle wanted. And yet her heart squeezed. If she turned down this marriage proposal—even on the terms that Theo Theakis was offering her—the consequences for her uncle would be catastrophic.

      I can’t do it to him! I can’t let him go under! But I can’t possibly marry a man I don’t know, for any reason whatsoever! But if I don’t, then my uncle will be ruined…

      Round and round the dilemma went in her head, making dinner that evening a gruelling ordeal. Vicky was horribly aware of the expectant-yet-anxious expression that was constantly in her uncle’s eyes, both day and night, and she herself endured a fitful, sleepless night. And so it was with a sense of escape the following morning that she took a telephone call from London.

      But her pleasure in hearing Jem’s voice swiftly turned to dismay. She had left the running of Freshstart to him while she was in Greece, but before the phone call was over she realised it had been a mistake. Jem was great with kids—he could make emotional contact with the most troubled teenager—but as an organiser and administrator he was, she had to admit, poor.

      ‘I’m really sorry, Vicky, but it seems I didn’t get that grant application in on time and the deadline has passed. Now we can’t apply again till next year.’ Jem’s voice was apologetic. ‘They were shorthanded with the kids, so I went to help out, and then I was out of time to get the form into the post.’

      Vicky suppressed a sigh of irritation. Even with the money her father had left, the charity needed every penny it could raise, and the grant she’d been counting on getting would have gone a long way. Now she had even more on her plate to worry about, despite the unbelievable situation she found herself in here in Greece.

      However, soon her attention had to return to that, when, shortly after she’d finished speaking to Jem, there was another phone call for her.

      It was Theo Theakis.

      ‘I would like you to join me for lunch,’ he informed her with minimal preamble, and told her the name of the restaurant and the time he wanted her to be there. Then he hung up. Vicky stared at the phone resentfully, wishing the man to perdition.

      All the same, she presented herself at the designated location at the appointed hour, and slid into her seat as Theo Theakis got to his feet at her approach. Instinctively, she avoided anything but the briefest eye contact with him, and self-consciously ignored the various speculative glances that were obviously coming their way.

      Her lunch partner wasted little time in getting to the point.

      ‘I do not wish to harass you, but a decision from you on the matter under consideration is needed without delay,’ he began, as soon as the waiter had taken their orders. ‘The marauding company has just acquired another tranche of shares. Other shareholders are clearly wavering. Unless a very clear signal is sent to them imminently to say that I am aligning myself with Aristides they will start to sell out in critical numbers. So…’ His dark eyes rested on her without expression. ‘Once again I must ask you whether you are prepared to accept the recommendation I made to you yesterday.’

      She could feel her hands tensing in her lap.

      ‘There has to be another way of—’ she began tightly.

      ‘There isn’t.’ Theo Theakis’s voice was brusque. ‘If there were, I would take it. However, if you are still of the same mind as you were yesterday afternoon—’ again Vicky could hear the note of critical condemnation in his voice, and it raised her hackles automatically ‘—then allow me to mention something that was omitted from our exchange then.’

      He paused a moment, and Vicky made herself meet his eyes. They were quite opaque, but there was something in them that was even more disturbing than usual. She wanted to look away, but grimly she held on.

      He started to speak again.

      ‘Because of your upbringing in England I appreciate that the concept of a dynastic marriage such as your uncle hopes for is very alien to you. However…’ He paused again minutely, as if deciding whether to say what he went on to say. ‘There is another aspect of such arrangements which your lack of familiarity with them might require me to make plain to you. It is the matter of the marriage settlement. Although the issue is complicated by the matter of the threat to your uncle’s company, nevertheless in simplistic terms the outcome for yourself would be a sum of money set aside—in the form, if you like, of a dowry. No, do not interrupt me, if you please—I appreciate you find the term archaic, but that is irrelevant.’

      He broke off while the sommelier approached with the wine he had chosen for lunch, and went through

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